


Grief

by nicostolemybones (fatherlords)



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death, Will Solace-centric, implied solangelo, personal reflection on grief, tw death, tw grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22845535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatherlords/pseuds/nicostolemybones
Summary: Will reflects on griefI do not give permission for my work to appear on any apps nor do I consent to my work being reposted anywhere. If you see my work outside of my tumblr or outside of any blogs/accounts I mention in my fics, please report/contact them or inform me. If you report them, do not report as if it were your own work.My tumblr is @nicostolemybones
Relationships: Nico di Angelo/Will Solace
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	Grief

Will considered himself unbothered by grief, at this point. It seldom crossed his mind, save for the very occasional moment he'd be hit with a sudden realisation of mortality, at which he'd feel like crying, for a few seconds maybe, before it passed again. He didn't find it painful to think about them anymore. He'd only grieved for a few weeks, only grieved intensely for a few days. For those he wasn't as close to, he'd cry for a day, at most, maybe at the funeral too. Grief was weird for Will, in that sense. He found himself grieving his own mortality for longer than the mortality of those already gone.

He considered it a blessing, to grieve so quickly. It wasn't gentle or melancholy. The grief he experienced was intense and deep- but familiar. Will had depression- he wasn't a stranger to the symptoms of grief, because they were the symptoms of depression. He found it indistinguishable save for the offending thoughts of death that indicated the onset of grief. But Will felt grateful. 

The first stage for Will was a profound feeling that everything was going to change. He'd feel oddly independent- his life would be different, so he'd have the urge to be more independent. It wouldn't last long- Will relied on the comfort of others all too much. The world would never be the same again and he had no choice but to adapt. He supposed it was survival mode.

The second stage for Will was shock. Not necessarily emotional shock, he accepted death as soon as he heard or saw the news- but physical shock. Nausea to the point of dry retching in the dead of night, numb, walking to ease the nausea and wondering if he wore his grief proud enough for others to respect him for it, to notice, to mourn with him or send a silent prayer. He'd be unable to eat for a while, but his appetite usually fluctuated wildly, so it didn't bother him so much. 

The third stage would be the breakdown. The loud sobs into someone's shoulder- Will couldn't cry alone, didn't know how to, couldn't conjure the tears. He'd be hysterical, floating in and out of fits of crying and bursts of panic, trying to process the grief and loss efficiently. He wouldn't try to stop himself. Grief was a river carving its natural path, and it could only dry up should it be allowed to run its natural course. The river beds and valleys would forever forge a part of his internal landscape, where flowers would grow, one day. Peonies for mom, daisies for Michael, poppies for Lee, because they were their favourite flowers. For a long time, in his mind, he grew sunflowers for dad, until the day he came to camp. 

The fourth stage was hopeless terror- the sudden realisation of his own unavoidable mortality, that no matter what, he wouldn't stay conscious forever, would lose everything, lose himself. He didn't dwell thinking of these, because he'd scream for weeks and he could only distract himself. Processing a loved one's mortality was easy, because Will lived on. Processing his own was impossible, because time ticked tentatively on, like a live wire, a fuse waiting to blow, and a match to the bomb. Nights he couldn't sleep because sleep reminded him of death. Fear of surgery, fear of sleep, fear of travel, of new foods, of the dark and heights, fear of stagnation and leaving no legacy, no mark, no trace he existed, insignificant, nothing, nobody. 

The fifth stage was living. When the grief had passed- quickly, mind you, he'd be left with the calm frantic simmer of normal life. Grief would seldom cross his path, and when it did, he'd be unbothered. 

He kept memento moris, not a skull on a desk- no, that was Nico's thing- but a ring or a bracelet or a watch or a chain- just something to remind him of those passed. Fresh from the corpse, just how he liked things. 

Will dealt with death- he was a doctor, after all.

Perhaps, that is simply what drew him to Nico; a mutual understanding, and morose and sombre gentle hum of the delicate thread between life and mortality.


End file.
